Familiar [11-1-08]

At night I hear the crickets talking to me, their black backsslick and reflectiveagainst the moon.When the sun comes up, I leave the doors ajar soonebyonethey come inside to hideunder the chestsand in the corners of the room;their Morse code of clicks and chirpsa metronomefor my writing hand.

Thank you so much. I wrote this when I was still living in Kansas. Those darn little buggers always seemed to sneak their way into the farmhouse, and after a while, I learned to love them. The house was always ghostly quiet without their little chirps from the corners.

watch out for those crickets though- last Summer the cicadas in my garden started a campaign against the netting on my windows. They would fly at it in battle formation as if they hoped their collective impact would breach the barrier and allow them access to my sanctum. I prefer that they keep their songs outside…

The Cicada bloom came through southern Ohio last summer, talk about an army.